


Atonement

by MYuzuki



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Angst, Atonement - Freeform, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death Fix, Everyone Has Issues, Everyone Needs A Hug, F/M, Gen, Guilt, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Joker being angsty, Original Character(s), Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Reapers, Resurrection, Second Chance at Life, and latin chapter titles because I want to, because coming back to life can do that to a person, but they have meaning too so don't ignore 'em, but with a catch because isn't there always a catch?, noah's ark circus
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-16
Updated: 2016-03-31
Packaged: 2018-04-26 16:06:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5011093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MYuzuki/pseuds/MYuzuki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ethelinda is a reaper with a sassy attitude and a knack for getting herself into ridiculous messes. But when she's suddenly assigned to watch over a handful of circus performers who have been returned to life for a second chance, she may just get dragged into more than she's ready for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Initium

Linda watched the Cinematic Record play with the studied patience of someone who's seen it all before, not batting an eye at the scenes that played out across the reel depicting the soon-to-be-dead man's life.

It was, in her personal opinion, not much of a life.

He'd accomplished nothing of value, and had been selfish to boot. And he'd had a nasty tendency to kick at stray cats and throw rocks at birds. And he'd fed a lovely grass snake to his vicious hunting hawk. He was also obese, smelly, and had a thick mustache that held crumbs from whatever his last meal had been.

She cut through his Record with the sharp edge of her gunblade with no second thoughts at all. This was a man who no one would miss or mourn. So she made sure he was well and gone, then finished filling out his entry in her notebook.

Glancing at the remainder of her soul collection list, she sighed. Ever since she'd been demoted the last time (it had been, if she recalled, the third time in as many decades, for pretty much the same reason), she'd been stuck on Evasion Retrieval, which was basically exactly what it sounded like. Through one way or another, certain humans had managed to evade being reaped. Death couldn't be dodged forever, though; eventually a reaper would catch up to them and set things right. That was her job, currently. Track down the evasive souls and reap them. Put an end to their overdue stories.

It was actually something she'd grown more fond of over time. After being demoted for what was probably going to be the last time (and not in a good way), she'd been bitter and angry and not feeling like herself. Tracking down those runaway souls, though...that had perked her up a bit. Thrill of the chase, and all that. It had been so long since she'd been active in the field that the reentry learning curve had been a little rough, but she'd bounced back like a champ and turned herself into the most effective Evasion Retrieval reaper Dispatch had seen in over a hundred years. Since she was rocking her mid-eighties, looked about twenty-five, and had been in possession of an I-know-it-all attitude, that commendation hadn't seemed all that impressive to her at the time, but she'd grown to appreciate that, too. It hadn't earned her back her old position, but the praise had been nice. Made her feel like she was doing something right.

Of course, being eighty-six and still being a reaper meant that she was likely still not doing something right according to the grand cosmic scheme of things. If she had, after all, she'd have already moved on. But her atonement, it seemed, was not yet at an end.

Sighing again, she moved on to the next name on her list.

“Miguel Santiago Ramirez,” she murmured, tapping her finger on his entry. He was some sort of Spanish cartel hitman, apparently, and was overdue for death by about four years. He'd originally been meant to die in some sort of drug deal shoot out in Paris, but had somehow skipped out and avoided his demise. And had continued to avoid death for over four years, despite pursuit from several other reapers.

He was, if she had her way, going to be dead within the week.

Snapping her notebook closed, she tucked it into a hidden pocket in her dress and vanished her gunblade with a thought. Tugging a ribbon out of another hidden pocket, she tied back her long hair and twisted it into a bun. Then she summoned a long hooded coat out of thin air and shrugged it on. Ramirez was, according to the information on the latest sightings of him, somewhere in England. Since England had the most dreary, damp, and depressing weather she'd ever encountered in her eighty-odd years as a reaper, she felt obligated to dress accordingly. The coat was well-lined and would keep her insulated against the damp chill. And the hood would hide her strangely colored hair in the event she had to assume a visible-to-mortals form for the hunt.

She probably ought to have stopped off in Headquarters before bouncing off to England, but she wasn't much for reporting in at the best of times. And right now all she wanted was to catch up with her quota and take a few days off.

So when she transported herself to England and crashed immediately into a Dispatch supervisor named Martin Raffin, she was less than thrilled.

 _Well, damn_ , she thought irritably. _Guess I'm in trouble again._ Although truth be told, she couldn't call to mind anything she'd done recently that might qualify. Since her most recent demotion, she'd been careful to avoid causing or getting pulled into trouble. Well, serious trouble. There had been that one retrieval case, with the ferret and the vodka but that had been a _very_ unique situation. And the other time with the sea captain and his crew of crossdressers but again, special circumstances. Or maybe the supervisor was here about the hubbub in India? Because if she'd known that the gem-studded palace by the riverside had been worth so much she wouldn't have demolished it in pursuit of her target. Honest.

To her surprise, however, it turned out to be none of these things.

“I have a new task for you,” Raffin said without preamble. “It is outside your current range of duties, but given your past assignments it was decided that you would be the best qualified.”

Linda blinked at him. “Best qualified for what?” she asked warily.

“Probation,” Raffin replied.

A long moment of silence.

“...do I look like a parole officer to you?” she asked at last, keeping her tone light. “Because as far I know I'm not dressed like a jailer. I could change, though,” she added saucily, “if you're into that sort of thing.”

He gave a little huff. “Impudent,” he said disapprovingly. “And unprofessional.”

She rolled her eyes. “You don't say.” She wagged a finger at him. “Honestly, if you came all this way just to give me vague cryptic assignments you can scoot yourself right off back to Headquarters.”

  
Raffin looked annoyed. “What did I say that was so vague?” he asked in exasperation.

“It's not what you said,” she chided. “It's what you _didn't_ say. Who's on probation,” she continued, ticking off the questions on her fingers as she went. “Why are they on probation. What does their probation entail. And why, exactly, am _I_ being given this assignment.”

Raffin looked at her long and hard before relenting. “Dispatch is doing a trial run for a new program. A sort of...second chance, for souls who want to return for unfinished business or to make amends.”

Linda wrinkled her nose. “We all have unfinished business or amends to make. What makes these souls so special?”

  
Raffin shrugged. “Who knows. I heard several rumors about preferential treatment because of distant ties to the reaper community, but you know how the gossip is.”

“Of course I know how the gossip is,” she replied cheekily. “I start most of it.”

This time is was Raffin who rolled his eyes, and Linda barely restrained a chuckle at the sight. “In any case,” he continued, “there are a handful of these trials being conducted. You've been selected along with three others to supervise the souls that are being returned to life for the duration of the trial. Each of you has been assigned a group to watch over and assist.”

It was, she had to admit, an intriguing prospect. Hell, more than intriguing. Still, she had to at least put up a token objection, otherwise her contrarian reputation would go to waste. “And again, why me?” She patted the pocket where she had her notebook. “I have important work to do, you know?”

Raffin arched an eyebrow. “More important than being part of a vital test group that could potentially impact the future of the entire reaper system?”

She made a show of thinking it over, but in the end she was already sold on it. “Mmm...well, alright then.” She heaved a put-upon sigh. “If you really think it's important.”

Raffin gave smirk that let her know that he knew she was faking. “Thank you for your service,” he said dryly. “It's much appreciated.”  
“It's always nice to feel appreciated,” she mused, cracking her knuckles absently. “Now, who are these souls I'm supposed to be watching over?”

“They're performers of some sort,” Raffin told her. “The top tier of some traveling circus, according to the file. A Pierrot, a tightrope walker, an animal tamer, a fire-breather, that sort of thing. Noah's Ark Circus, I believe it was called.”

“A circus troupe, huh?” She gave a wide smile. “Well, that sounds pretty fun.”

  
“Be careful,” Raffin cautioned. “I don't have access to the details, since portions of the files are sealed, but something seems to have happened with this group that...marked them.”

  
“Marked them?” she echoed, letting him hear the puzzlement in her voice.

“Stained them,” he elaborated. “Something happened to stain their souls. Whatever it was, it could impact how they react to the second chance they're being given. I doubt they could do anything that would seriously endanger you, but still...proceed carefully.”

She flashed him a bright smile. “Who, me?” She batted her eyelashes at him. “I'm always careful.”

“Get going,” Raffin said, handing her a file and waving her off, “Ethelinda Baines. Your assignment starts now.”

She took the file, gave a mocking salute, and vaulted off the building they were standing on, anticipation rising in her like wildfire. This assignment was going to be all sorts of interesting, of that she was certain.


	2. Scurra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Linda meets Joker, who is freshly returned to life and feeling pretty lousy.

His first thought was unoriginal, but still in need of answering.

_Where am I?_

He moved to sit up, struggling because of his missing arm.

That's right...his arm...

He'd had a prosthetic, once. But the cost had been too high in the end, and the sickening truth behind it had disgusted him to the core.

 _Don't think of it now_ , he told himself, fighting against the wave of despair that rose up to choke him. _Focus. Where am I?_

Looking around, it seemed like he was in an alleyway of some sort, between a pile of trash and a stack of old wine crates. _Back in the gutter_ , he thought glumly, then frowned. Because he last thing he remembered frombefore this was...pain. Pain and darkness and two performers who had turned out to be so much more. The unsmiling Smile and the butler Black.

That had been the end. His end.

So he really shouldn't have been 'back' anywhere.

He was dead.

But if he was dead, what the hell was he doing sprawled out in a grimy dead-end alleyway?

"Oh, good," a stranger's voice called out from the end of the alley. "You're where you're supposed to be. That's refreshing."

Startled, he looked over to see a woman in a black dress approaching him. She had a youthful face, and he would have called her pretty if not for her unusual eyes. They were a bizarre yellow-green, and paired with the red-framed cat's eyes glasses she wore, made her appearance more striking than attractive.

Especially once she stepped into the light and he realized that her long flowing hair wasn't black like he'd first thought, but rather a dark, dark green.

He'd seen more than his fair share of strangeness over the years, but something about this woman set off a warning bell in his head. Something about her just...wasn't right.

"You must be the first of the group, I guess," the woman was saying, seemingly unperturbed by his obvious uneasiness. "What do you call yourself?"

"Joker," he said slowly, eyeing her uncertainly.

"Joker? Huh. You were the Pierrot then, right?" She frowned at him suddenly. "What's that freaked out face for?" she demanded, then made a face of her own. "dammit." She patted at her head before snagging the fallen hood of her coat. "It's the hair, isn't it?" She sighed. "Yeah, that's me, spinach hair." She gave a rueful smile. "Sorry if the color offends, but there's nothing I can do about it. And trust me, I've tried."

He had no idea what he should say in response to that, so he just stared at her. "Uh..."

To his surprise, she laughed. "Relax," she told him. "I don't bite. Unless you want me to," she added with a wink.

He gave a snort of laughter before he could stop himself. "I'll keep that in mind," he said, lips curving in amusement as his unease slowly receded. "Who are you?"

"Ethelinda Baines," she responded promptly, giving an elegant little curtsy. "But you can call me Linda."

"Not Ethel?"

"Hell no. I"ll shoot you."

He chuckled. "Noted." He looked at her more closely. "I have another question."

She arched an eyebrow. "Just one?"

"Several questions," he amended. "But one about you specifically. You might be offended," he added.

Ethelinda rolled her eyes. "Sweetheart, please." She shook her head. "I set the record for asking offensive questions. Nothing you ask is going to ruffle my feathers, I assure you."

Well. No point in dancing around it, then. "What are you?"

Her smiled dimmed a little but her voice remained bright and chipper. "A reaper," she said cheerily, eyes bright as if she were saying something exciting like 'princess'.

He, meanwhile, was completely at a loss. "Wait, hold on." He held up his hand. "A...reaper? As in...an angel of death?"

"I'm definitely not an angel," she replied, looking amused by the idea. "But I am a collector of souls, yes."

"Are you here for mine?" Joker asked, finding himself more curious than alarmed by the thought. He deserved his fate, after all. He'd done terrible things. He'd thought it for a good cause, to protect those he loved, but in the end it had all been for nothing anyway. Yes, he thought that if this strange woman were here for his soul maybe that was only right.

She took him completely off guard by laughing. "Why would I do something silly like that, hen we've gone to so much trouble to get you back among the living again? And with your good arm, too," she added, almost as an afterthought. "Reattaching that can't have been easy for the boys over in Dispatch. Man, I hope they don't bill me for it..."

He stared at her, only hearing the first part of her what she'd said. "Among the..." He shook his head. "But I'm dead."

Ethelinda smirked. "Are you?"

He frowned. "What are you...Yes, of course I am. I remember dying." The Phantomhive butler had cut his arm off and he'd bled out from his injuries while the butler and the Phantomhive boy had finished off Baron Kelvin. He remembered his last wish, that the others had somehow found a way to escape, to get away the darkness they'd been sucked into. He'd known as he'd drawn his last breath, however, that such a wish was hopeless. "I remember dying," he repeated emphatically.

"I'm sure you do," she said agreeably. "But how are you feeling right now? Do you _feel_ dead?"

His frown deepened as he considered it. He was breathing, his heartbeat was strong and steady in his chest. He could feel the wall behind him and the ground beneath him. "No," he said slowly. "I don't."

"Good," Ethelinda replied. "Because you aren't. Dead, that is. Not anymore."

"But...how?" He looked up at her in confusion. "I died. Should I...be in hell?"

"Hell, huh?" She tsked. "Guess Raffin was right his talk of stains, if hell us the first thing on your mind when death gets mentioned."

He scowled, completely baffled again. "What are you talking about?"

She waved a hand dismissively, as if brushing away her previous words. "Never mind." She reached down to him. "Here, let's get you on your feet, shall we? It's hard to get started on a fresh start just sitting there on the ground."

He took her hand in his before he could second-guess the impulse, and the next thing he knew she was tugging him to his feet, bracing him with an arm around his waist when he stumbled.

"There," she said once he'd gotten his equilibrium back. "That's better, isn't it?"

"...Yeah," he admitted. It made it more real somehow, being able to touch this strange person and stand on his own two feet. It added solidity to what he'd honestly been thinking was some sort of post-death hallucination.

"Now, Joker." Ethelinda pulled away and looked at him intently. "Do you understand what's happening here?"

He rubbed his shoulder absently, missing his prosthetic arm and knowing he shouldn't. "Honestly? No." He shook his head. "The last thing I remember is dying. Why am I alive again?"

"Because you're being given a second chance," she told him seriously. "It's not something that happens, usually. Or at all, really. You and the others are very, _very_ lucky to have been selected for this."

"The others?" he repeated.

"Your friends," she clarified. "The tiger tamer, the tightrope walker. Those two trapeze artists, the ones who look like kids but aren't. Oh, and that fire-breather, too, and the knife thrower. You've all been selected to have one more try at life."

Beast, and Doll. Peter and Wendy. Jumbo, and Dagger. His friends...

"Why?" he whispered, his voice cracking. "Why, when we..." He swallowed hard. "We don't deserve a second chance."

"Maybe not," she allowed. "But you're getting one anyway, so suck it up."

He just shook his head. "We don't deserve it," he repeated sadly.

The green-haired reaper rolled her eyes. "Please don't tell me that's how you're going to feel about this _all the time_. Good grief, do you know what I'd give to have a second chance like yours?" She wagged a finger at him. "You're being given a gift. Don't waste it."


	3. Invidia

The first member of her assigned group was not what Linda had been expecting

Well, truth be told, she wasn't entirely sure _what_ she'd been expecting, but this handsome orange-haired man missing an arm wasn't it.

That he seemed to adamantly believe that he deserved to be in hell troubled her more than a little, she had to admit. It wasn't that he was wrong, or even that he was right. It was that she couldn't tell, one way or the other.

Most humans, she knew, led lives that did not inspire awe or mercy in the reaper community. In general, when a person died, a reaper watched the human's Cinematic Record, cut it, and shuffled them off to whatever afterlife was awaiting them. Ninety-nine point nine percent of the time, that's how it happened. Very, _very_ rarely, however, that point one percent came into play, when there were those few exceptional people whose lives where so bright and affecting that they couldn't be cut short.

Of the thousands upon thousands of souls she'd reaped during the course of her tenure as a soul collector, Linda had only ever found two that had deserved to spared. Two. Out of _thousands_.

She didn't understand why Joker and his friends were not only being retroactively spared but brought _back_. It was something that had never been done before, certainly not after such a long passing of time since the deaths themselves.

She wanted to believe that they were some of the special ones. That they truly did deserve this chance. But she just couldn't see it. What made Joker so special, so as to get another go at life? Why had Dispatch chosen him and his friends to do this little trial run with? And why, for the love of God, would Dispatch assign _her_ to watch over them? Only an idiot wouldn't be able to anticipate her jealousy.

Yes...Her jealousy.

That was, she realized, the sour feeling in her stomach. Seeing Joker unappreciative of his second chance...seeing him _not want it_. It had made some in her twist and coil. It had made her angry. It had made her want to shout at him.

 _Don't you see what you've been given?_ she wanted to yell.

_Do you know how many others would kill for this chance?_

If she were ever given that second chance? She'd cling to it with both hands and _never_ let it go.

Immortality as a reaper had its perks, sure. But it could never compare to _life_. Real, true, honest to God, breathing and bleeding life, with all its little moments of sorrow and joy.

But she was, she reminded herself, not deserving of a second chance. She'd squandered her first life, thrown it away without thought of consequences. And she'd been judged and punished accordingly.

But it wasn't like she was alone. It was the same for all the reapers. The deaths were different, but the sin was the same. And they were all working it off. Paying the price for this selfish wastefulness.

It wasn't so bad, she'd learned, if she just didn't think about it too much. So, she decided, she wouldn't.

Refocusing on Joker, she decided that the first thing they needed to do was get him some new clothes. He was dressed in what seemed to be only a basic nightgown; it was a miracle he hadn't caught a chill, siting on the ground like he'd been before.

"Come along," she told him, grabbing his hand and tugging him after her. "We're going shopping."

He made a startled sound. "We're what?"

"Going shopping," she repeated, pulling him out of the alley and into the street, looking around for a tailor's shop or a boutique of some kind. "Oh, look! Let's try that one."

He made a strangled sound. "Everything's pink and made of lace."

She snickered. "I'm sure we'll find you something suitable," she teased.

An exasperated groan. "My second chance starts out with humiliation, then? Wonderful."

She rolled her eyes and changed course, entering a more sedate storefront instead. "Relax, I'm not out to terrorize you. I just wanted to see how you'd respond."

He narrowed his eyes at her as they entered the shop. "Why?" he asked suspiciously.

"Because I'm going to be spending a lot of time with you and your friends," she told him honestly. "And if I'm spending a lot of time with someone, I like to get to know them." She smirked at him. "Is that so strange?"

"No," he admitted. "I guess not."

She smiled, then tossed a suit at him. "Here," she said. "Go try this one on."

He looked at it and scowled. It bore an uncanny resemblance to the outfit he'd worn during his tenure at the circus. "No," he told her. "Not this one."

She frowned. "But why? It's-"

"Not this one," he snapped.

Linda's expression tightened as she clenched her jaw, those strange eyes flashing in annoyance. "Fine," she said coldly. "Pick out your own clothes, then. I'm not your mother; you can dress your own damn self." With that, she stormed off to inspect an array of decorative scarves by the shop window.

Joker felt annoyed by her behavior...and just the tiniest bit guilty. Yes, she was being a little pushy, but she was also trying to help him. Aside from the fact he didn't deserve, and subsequently did not _want_ , that help...well, he still shouldn't have snapped at her.

He gave a little sigh and followed her to the scarves. "I'm sorry," he told her. "I didn't mean to upset you."

"Do I look upset to you?" Ethelinda asked icily, her tone so cold it could have given him frostbite.

And honestly, she _didn't_ look upset. She didn't look the slightest bit emotional at all. Her face was completely blank and without feeling.

It occurred to him almost immediately that such an expressive person wearing a totally empty expression was not a good thing. And possibly dangerous, given her vocation of reaping souls.

He sighed again. "Did I just fail at my second chance?" he felt obligated to ask.

Ehtelinda's mask of indifference cracked as she gave a little snort of amusement. "Don't be stupid, " she grumbled. "You don't lose points for disagreeing with my fashion sense." She shook her head and took off her glasses to rub at her eyes tiredly. "Go ahead and buy whatever you want, and let's go find a hotel. I've been up for two straight days and I need to rest."

That surprised him. "Reapers need sleep?"

She rolled her eyes. "Ridiculous, right?" She shook her head and slipped her glasses back on, fussing with them until they were straight. "It's to remind us of our humanity, I think. We can go without resting a little longer than mortals can, but not forever."

"How strange."

She shrugged. "I suppose." She turned back to the scarves she'd been inspecting. "What do you think of this one?" she asked him, holding up a checkered orange and red scarf that had a bright gold fringe.

"For me or for you?"

"Me, of course."

He smirked. "Of course.," he repeated, then shook his head. "It clashes with your glasses. And it's way too bright and busy, just in general."

"These glasses aren't originally mine," Ethelinda noted in an apparent tangent. "Mine were plain and black; they got smashed in a fight, though, so a reaper friend gave me one of their extra pairs."

"You have the same prescription?" he asked curiously.

That seemed to amuse her for some reason. "Something like that, I suppose. All reapers are near-sighted, some worse than others but most are about the same, I guess, so short-term glasses swaps aren't a big deal. I did have my own lenses put in, though," she added, tapping her glasses. "I just liked these frames so much more than mine, and Grell didn't mind letting me keep them."

"Nice friend," he remarked, then frowned. "Why are we having a whole conversation about your glasses?"

She burst into laughter. "I wanted to see how long I could blather on about nonsense before you stopped me."

"Good grief." He chuckled. "You really are different from anyone I've ever met."

She gave him an impish smile. "Careful now," she warned teasingly, "or I might start to think you're falling for me."

He laughed again, but just shook his head. "I doubt I'm your type." He reached for another scarf, one that was a deep purple with silver crescent moons embroidered on the edges. "What about this one? It would go well with your hair."

She gave a little start of surprise, reaching up to twist a lock of green hair around a finger. "You think so?"

"I do," he affirmed, handing it to her. Since she still didn't look convinced, he gave her an offer. "If you buy the scarf," he told her, "I'll buy that suit."

She perked up at once, flashing him a bright smile. "Deal," she said, putting back the orange and red scarf and taking the one he'd picked.

He, similarly, turned back and went to retrieve the outfit she'd chosen for him earlier. It was, he had to admit, disconcerting to select articles of clothing that so closely resembled what he'd worn during his time in the circus. He wondered if Linda had chosen them specifically because of the similarity, then decided it didn't matter. If this really was his second chance at life, he'd need to face who he'd been the first time around sooner or later. Doing it through his clothing was relatively painless, all things considered. And the clothes _did_ look good on him.

"You look good," Linda said when he emerged form the changing room. "Really good," she added, giving him an appreciative once-over and a wink.

"Thanks," he said, smiling. Looking in the mirror, it was like looking at exactly who he'd been before. His appearance was almost completely the same. But _he_ wasn't the same, he reminded himself. Outwardly he appeared the same as the Joker of old, but inside he was changed, a different man.

Or at least...he hoped he was.

"You look good, too," he told her, because that was a truth he was sure of.


End file.
